


Dissolution of Nature

by Jay_Dayy



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Character Death, Child Philip, Eliza is a good mom, Father-Son Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Ghost John Laurens, Ghosts, I Tried, Lams - Freeform, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, On Hiatus, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Platonic Relationships, References to Smut, Why Did I Write This?, distant father, not updating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 04:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11433408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jay_Dayy/pseuds/Jay_Dayy
Summary: (Super unoriginal but y'know.)Philip had a pretty normal childhood. He played in the mud, climbed trees, stole cookies and treats from the pantry, played piano with his mother, and spent hours in his room talking to no one in particular.





	1. Dare he call it life?

**Author's Note:**

> I needed a small break from my DEH story, guys! So I wrote this garbage. Enjoy!

Philip looked at his mother, who guided his hands to the cool, black and white keys of the piano and pushed down, filling the room with sound. The music sent a chill down his spine as she gingerly guided him to each note. The song was a cheerful Sonata, one that reminded him of birdsong and green grass in a lovely meadow.

Soon the song ended and his mother smiled down at him, patting his back encouragingly as she spoke: "Your turn now, Phillip."

 Philip began to play, nibbling the inside of his cheek as he tried to remember the exact notes his mother has taught him. A lock of chocolate brown hair fell into his eye, yet he didn't stop. His notes were slightly spaced apart and hesitant, but as Philip grew confident in his ability, the strength of the notes increased. His mother beamed with pride at her son, who had struggled so badly to learn the song, was finally getting it.

"Very good, Philip! Keep going!" She complimented him. Philip's heart grew three sizes, along with his head and he grew cocky, his concentrated expression melting into a smug grin as Philip attempted to show off to his mother; which always ended in the wrong note struck and the song abruptly ending, casting an awkward silence in the family room.

But no, no, no. He was Philip Hamilton, and he was determined to impress his parents with his musical ability. During his train of thought, his hand just barely struck the wrong notes and another hand had grabbed his just in time and smoothly placed his fingers over the correct piano keys. He glanced to the side to see John looming over him, smirking at him and vanishing before his eyes. 

Philip continued to play until the song came to its end. He turned to look at John, who leaned in the doorway of the study and winked at him in approval. He didn't notice his mother turn to look at him, then looking at the doorway, then back to him, her eyes filled with confusion.

"What are you looking at, Philip?" John motioned something before disappearing in the blink of an eye. This only confused young Philip.

"Oh. I was looking at my friend-" Philip explained, "He went away, but he's really nice, though! I guess he's just shy." Philip assured his mother, smiling at her. 

"I see." She smiled back, yet her eyes were distant. Philip pretended he didn't notice, but he saw the way she fretted around him, eyes darting from him to around the room, looking around for whoever "John" was. Did he scare her? Was something wrong with young Philip? This worried him, but John assured him that it wasn't his fault.

Eliza and Philip didn't talk much until bedtime, where she tucked Philip into his bed and smoothed out his soft sheets lovingly, a kind smile gracing her heart-shaped face. "Sweet dreams, Philip." She pressed her lips to his forehead, caressing his cheek soothingly. She picked up the candle and walked from the room, slowly leaving Philip in the darkness.

"Mother, wait!" He sat up suddenly, eyes wide with nervousness and childish fright. Philip didn't want to be left alone. He must stall her. She turned around at the door and Philip could barely make out the outline of her lips curving into an amused smile.

"Yes, dear?"

He searched for an excuse to why she should stay longer, before quickly realizing his father hasn't said a word to him all day. Despite assuring his parents that his father's work schedule didn't bother him, he still felt sadness at how reticent his father was towards him. Why didn't dad love him like Mr. Burr loved Theodosia? Why did he work non-stop? 

"Tell daddy I said goodnight, please!" He blurted, eyes wide. Pity graced his mother's features for a split second before she plastered on a comforting smile. "And give him a good night kiss for me!"

"I will." She nodded, "goodnight, love." His mother shut the door and plunged his bedroom into sudden darkness. He sat back, tugging his blanket to his chin and trying not to let his imagination wander towards the unearthly creatures that visited him in his slumber, looming over him and letting out an eldritch screech as they maimed the young boy.

Tears pricked his eyes and he rolled to his side, trying not to imagine monsters under his bed or something slowly scratching at the glass of his window, trying to get inside. Philip began to quiver, pressing a hand to his mouth to muffle the horrified sobs that threatened to alert his parents of his obvious fear, which is something he shouldn't have, since he's supposed to be manly and strong.

"Yo, Philip! Are you alright?" A cool hand graced his cheek, brushing away the tears that left wet streaks over splatters of dark freckles. 

"Yeah, I-I'm okay..." Philip sniffled, trying to conceal his tears, but it was too late, "daddy said I shouldn't cry, tha-that I should 'be a man.'" This provoked a soft peal of laughter from John.

"Your father is a wonderful, intelligent, insightful idiot, Philip." John sighed, "he's always been this way, just pushing down his feelings until he explodes. Don't be like that, Philip. It's okay to cry. Men cry."

Philip thought for a moment about John's words. "Even daddy?" 

"Especially your daddy." John chuckled again, running a hand through Philip's hair, a soothing gesture he's been doing since Philip's first night-terror. "He's a good man, Philip. He works so hard because he loves you and Eliza very, very much."

"I wish he would show it." Philip mumbled, looking down at his hands wistfully. John sighed and enveloped Philip's hands in his, running a thumb over the freckles on the back of his fists.

"Philip, I watched you toddle around as a baby, and now you're growing into a young man with insecurities and that's okay. It's okay to have doubts, but just remember," he smiled, "I love you, your ma loves you, and your pa loves you as well." At his Philip smiled, sniffling as all traces of fear and sadness left him, replaced by adoration for the man.

Philip threw his arms around John, nuzzling his face into the crook of his shoulder. He inhaled weird, exotic, yet homely scents that comforted him. John smelt like gunpowder, dust, and fresh soil. And although those all seem strange, they all intermingled to make this unique scent that filled the room whenever John appeared. 

Philip closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

Philip's breathing slowed and his grip around John's neck loosened. He had fallen asleep in John's arms. John smiled and shook his head in amusement. Poor kid needed the sleep after nights of restless sleep, as he was plagued by dreams of monsters and demons after him. Just last night he had woken up screaming out that he didn't want to die. It alarmed John and his parents, but none of them knew how to stop it.

He slowly laid Philip down, pulling the covers up to his chin and brushing his long hair out of his face. John sat next to Philip on the bed, watching his chest rise up and down slowly, soft puffs of air escaping his parted lips. He was so precious when he slept, so innocent and naive. The poor boy had a lot of weight on his shoulders as the first-born and John felt for him since he was the eldest child in his family himself.

The door to the boy's bedroom opened and his eyes widened in surprise as Alexander Hamilton himself walked into the room; his hair mussed from him running his hands through it over and over, a thing he did when he was stressed; John noted. But yet, he froze, not knowing what to do. Of course, he's seen Alexander as he's followed Philip through life so far, but Alexander did Alexander things, like work... And work... And yell at Burr. This was unexpected and new.

John was startled by the fact that Alexander was staring right at him, paused as if he was waiting for John to say something. He stood hesitantly, opening his arms for Alexander to walk into; yearning to feel his touch after years of neglect, to hear his words bewitch him and make his chest ache with a mixture of love and lust that John knew was forbidden, yet he can't make it stop.

Alexander walked forward and right through him; not even noticing his existence. He didn't know he was there, helping him raise his own flesh and blood. He would never know because John was dead and gone. John felt tears pool in his eyes and he wiped them away. Even after years of... Dare he call it life? He would never get used to seeing people he loved ignore him. 

"Philip." Alexander breathed, sitting on the side of his bed - John's spot - and looking at him with adoration in his eyes. He watched as Alexander just sat there, lips trembling as he looked for anything to say to ease the guilt he felt for not being there. "I've broken my promise, haven't I, son?" Alexander started, "I've been so caught up with work lately and-" he chuckled, sounding like he was about to cry any minute, "You've been neglected. You need me to be your father."

John felt uncomfortable witnessing such a tender, intimate moment between father and son, but he couldn't look away. He just watched Alexander look down at Philip with pride. It made him feel so many conflicting emotions. Jealousy, Sadness, Joy, and Love. Not only for Philip, who he adored, but Alexander, who had successfully enraptured him during the war with his words, his tender whispers in his ears as they embraced during the dead of night, and how he ran his hands over John's every curve, every edge, and made him feel complete.

Alexander spoke to Philip again, his voice cracking slightly. "Someday, my son, you will blow us all away... God knows you've already done that." Alexander leaned in and kissed his sleeping son's cheek, "I love you, Philip, sleep well."

And Philip didn't wake up from a nightmare that night.

 


	2. He fell, not let go.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip fell out of a tree? What is he, an acorn?

Philip herded John into the yard, yammering on and on about how he can see the chapel from the top of the tree. John followed, listening to him rant on and on about how he could see his church from the top of the tree, and how one time he scared poor Theodosia by yelling at her while in the tree and she didn't talk to him for a week.

"Are you sure this is safe?" John looked up at the tree, alarmed by a large number of snapped branches. Philip nodded rigorously, bouncing up and down excitedly at the thought of climbing with his best friend. John was amused by his excitement, but the wistful look in his eyes didn't fade.

"I've climbed it lotsa times! It's safe!" Philip insisted, beaming widely. John sighed in defeat. He couldn't say no to Philip's big ol' grin on his chubby face. He reminded John of himself when he was his age, always looking for fun and adventure, even at the cost of death or extreme injury. Philip grabbed John's hand. "Please climb with me? It's really, really fun and I think you'd really like it."

John pretended to be deep in thought, stroking his chin. "I'm still deciding." 

"Stop it!" Philip laughed, playfully socking him on the arm. 

"Ow! Don't hit me! Fine, I'll go!" Laurens grinned, "Ladies first." John glibbed, gesturing towards the tree. Philip rolled his eyes and reached for the first branch, pulling himself up to grab another, soon he was almost ten feet in the air and John was flabbergasted at how swift he was, like a squirrel!

"Are you coming up or not?" Philip whined, pouting down at the man.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" John pulled on a branch, remarking how it didn't sag under his weight. For some reason, it took some of his strength to even touch the object. Normally he would effortlessly phase through obstacles, but when he didn't it took a bit of effort. His thoughts were interrupted by Philip making fun of him.

"You're slow, old man~!" Philip crooned from above, sticking out his tongue at him in mockery. John laughed heartily, warmly replying to the young boy.

"I'm 27! Or, well, I stopped aging since I..." He realized this would probably kill any joyful banter between the two boys and instead picked up the pace, managing to get nearly a horse length behind Philip when _it_ happened. Philip reached for a branch, arms straining as he tried to pull himself up... And the branch snapped. Philip fell, eyes as wide as saucers as he tumbled past John, arms reaching out as the branches grabbed at him, cutting his clothes and his flesh; leaving red, painful gashes behind that steadily leaked his lifeforce.

He hit the ground hard enough to bounce, an audible thud echoing across the quiet town. John jumped as well, but instead of landing like Philip did, he simply appeared on the ground in the blink of an eye.

"Philip! Philip!" John knelt down next to him, shaking him slightly. John wished he would open his eyes, smile at him, joke about how he must be made out of rubber, or maybe yell at John for not catching him. Anything "C-Can you hear me? Oh, god." John whispered when he didn't stir. Something awoke inside John and almost instinctively he dug his finger's in Philip's clothes and _pushed._ His skin tingled as he somehow shifted energy from his form into the boy's body. 

John watched as his tears fell from his face and somehow disappeared mid-fall, like they were too weak to actually land on Philip. It would've alarmed him if he wasn't so tired. John suddenly felt like he could go no further and had to stop, head drooping down. Why was he so exhausted? Why couldn't he barely move?  

"Philip!" He managed to roll his head to the side to see Eliza run out of the house barefoot, eyes wide and filled with tears. She threw herself on the muddy ground next to Philip and tried to wake him.

"It's no use..." John whispered, despite knowing she can't hear him. He expected her to be hopeless in this situation, but somehow in a maternal burst of energy, she was able to lift her son bridal-style and carry him inside.

_Wow._

John wanted to get up after him, but he felt too weak to even appear in his human form. He fell to his side and disappeared.

* * *

Philip opened his eyes to see grey. Grey light drifting through the windows, grey bedsheets, grey mood. He looked around to see his parent's room. He looked down to see he was semi undressed and covered in bandages. 

What happened? 

He tried to sit up, but was unable to when pain shot down his entire body and made his vision flash white. He let out a strangled groan, clenching his teeth and letting himself fall back onto the mattress. "John?" He murmured, coughing loudly. It hurt to breathe. "John!?" Philip repeated, louder. The bedroom door opened and his father walked in, eyebrows wrinkled in concern.

"Who are you calling?"

"I..." Philip hasn't been questioned about John since he was younger and naive. Now he knows to keep it hidden from his parents, "I had a dream. I'm still a lil' bit fuzzy, pa." He laughed, but his smile morphed into a wince. Tears glittered in his eyes as he tried not to cry out. 

"Relax." Alexander walked over and tucked him back in. "You had us worried there. The doctor said you managed to break your ribs, but somehow they set themselves. Your mother thinks it's a miracle, I think it's because us Hamilton are simply unbeatable." He winked at his son, smiling despite the bruise-like shadows under his eyes.

Philip chuckled weakly, closing his eyes to try to sleep again. He heard his father leave the room mumbling something about work to be done. He laid there for a bit until a voice interrupted his nap.

"Philip, are you alright?" His eyes flew open to see a very sickly looking John next to him. He eased himself upright to look at John, taking in how transparent he looked, and how sunken his eyes were in his face. He didn't stand like a normal person, but he hovered, slumped over slightly. Philip was alarmed at this, but he had bigger fish to fry.

"John! I-I..." Philip sighed, "you were right. It was a dumb idea, I'm sorry." He paused again, looking John up and down, "are you alright? Why do you look so sick? Can you even get sick?"

"I don't know, Philip. You were hurt and I just kinda..." John stopped, looking for a way to explain, "pushed my energy into you? It's odd, but now you look a lot better, so I don't regret it." John shuddered in horror, "For a moment I thought you were... I-I wouldn't know what to do if you joined me like this, you don't want to join me, Philip." Philip's eyes widened, not realizing how unhappy John was.

"I'm sorry you're sad, John." He murmured.

"Thank god you're here, though. I'm so happy I get to watch you grow up." John flashed him a weakened grin, "now get some sleep. You need it."

Philip nodded dumbly and closed his eyes again, his head beginning to throb with an on-coming headache. John's cold hand was laid on his for a second before John vanished, leaving Philip alone to fall into a dizzying sleep. He'd be sad for John if he wasn't so, so, so tired.


	3. Heaven is a Place on Earth with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was happy?
> 
>  
> 
> Internalized homophobia. Please don't read it it triggers you, thanks!
> 
>  
> 
> Also not proofread throughly because I'm trash.

John was in the beginnings of falling apart into little pieces. He said his part, introduced the maid-of-honor, and sat down; his heart hammering in his chest like a bird trying to escape. He pretended he was listening to Angelica talk, her face brightened in a smile despite her eyes clouding in woe and regret. John knew the feeling well. The shame, the guilt, the yearning... He felt it all in a cocktail of misery that both overwhelmed him and numbed him to reality. He felt cold, dead, like he was watching this event from a window. 

Yet John sipped his champagne, savoring the taste of the dry, straw-colored liquid as it rolled over his tongue. He relaxed slightly as his mind slowly fogged. John _enjoyed_ getting drunk. He enjoyed the tingling feeling, the taste of the ale, the partying, the fun... But this was different. Normally with each drink he felt light, but now he was sinking deeper into a darkness with each sip.

When will tonight end?

He watched Alexander and Eliza kiss, his mouth curving down into a frown as Alexander wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer. The same arms that would wrap around his waist each night, pull him closer as they embraced. They were John's arms first before she took him from him. He sighed and looked down at his hands now clenched in his lap, taking deep breaths in attempt to stop the trembling.

He wondered if Alexander would remember him on those sleepy nights with Eliza, remember the passion, the heat, the lack of shame as they embraced each other, running their hands down sweaty thighs and leaving scratches on each other's back. Would he remember the thrill of staying quiet, or the puffy kiss-bruised lips they shared? The probing fingers, the intense eyes...

It wasn't all sex and passion, though. There were nights after a hard day of fighting where they'd just lay there holding each other like they were a lifeline. John would never forget one thunderstorm in their shitty tent where Alexander curled in the corner and refused to move. John pleaded for him to get into bed, even demanded him, but Alexander would look up with him with disconnected eyes and shake his head rapidly; whispering something under his breath John couldn't quite hear.

John waited until Alexander passed out before carrying him to bed and tucking him in with a gentle smile, reaching out to brush a long lock of brown hair out of Alex's face.

It was rare to see Alexander sleep. If John didn't know any better, he'd assume Alexander didn't require sleep as much as he required writing until the candle is a wick in a pool of dusty yellow wax. But Alexander was so fragile while he slept, his normally expressive face now still and serene as he slept peacefully. Rarely did Alex move during his sleep, nor made a sound, while John could hear Hercules from the other side of the camp. 

Did Alexander love Eliza? John had wondered when they first met if Alexander was just dating her for her status, but even thinking of that made John feel conflicted. If the marriage was a sham, surely he still loved John? But at the same time, no matter how much John wanted to hate Eliza, he just couldn't. She had smiled at him, hugged him softly and told him that she'll take good care of Alexander from now on... Thanking him for being such a good best friend. 

She was so nice. She had such big, pretty eyes that seemed to radiate emotion. Even now as John looked at her from afar, he could see how helpless she was for Alexander. 

Alexander sure did have a type, it seemed, for damsels in distress. John had gotten sick one time, and the moment they were alone together it drove Alexander wild to look at John - who personally thought he looked disgusting, pale, and snotty - like he was some type of fragile little princess. He had thought it was sweet of Alexander to take care of him in many different ways during that week, John realizes it wasn't just him being caring, but it was about control. Alexander always wanted to be the dominant one in the relationship, the one to makes the choices and controls the narrative, however John wasn't always such a pushover and it led to many arguments and angry sex. 

Why? Why did Alexander have to thirst for control? John had no clue, but he assumed it was because of something in his past; which Alexander didn't tell him much about no matter how many times John asked. He had gotten so uncomfortable that one day at the bar together when John asked him about his family. At the time, he assumed he was penniless, but now it seemed like something bad happened. The panic attacks, the avoidance of the topic, the discomfort when someone talked about their parents, the obsessive need to take care of him while he was burning a high fever and unable to hold food down... 

It seemed like Alexander had experience with sick people, because as John grew sicker he panicked. Laurens remembered pretending to be asleep while Alexander ranted to Lafayette in french, saying what seemed to be gibberish to John, but he had managed to pick up a few parts of conversation.

"Il est mourant." Alexander was shaking, his face pale and his hair mussed from him running his fingers through it over and over until it seemed like it would fall out. He said more things in french John didn't understand before Lafayette grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, saying stuff in his native tongue that John didn't understand yet again before he said something John could piece about what it meant.

Lafayette soothed Alexander by pulling him into a hug. "He only has a fever, ami, I promise you, it'll be fine. John is resilient."

To Alexander's joy, John recovered quickly and was back to being a party animal like usual, scaring bartenders, kissing Alexander in public; but it was okay because everyone was drunk, hugging Alexander in a narrow alleyway, tasting ale on Alexander, body shots-

"Not you too!" John was startled from his deep thought by Angelica, who smiled sadly down at him and sat down. He looked at her and somehow saw himself. The sadness, the limpness, the forced smile plastered on like a mask. John stuttered hopelessly, trying to figure out if she's calling him out for loving her sister's groom, or if there was another reason for her words. She reached out and he flinched, expecting a slap, but she merely wiped his face, now glistening with tears. "Don't worry, Hercules is crying too." 

"Thank you." He mumbled, defeated. She sat there with her unusually cold hand on his overheating face, an understanding smile graced her features and John was pushed closer towards a break down. Angelica wasn't disgusted, and she knew. She masked her words, pretending like she was talking about his tears, but they both knew it. 

No. He can't break down. He has to be happy, happy, happy! An almost manic smile spread across his face as he grabbed his glass and stood, pulling Angelica towards the dance floor and exclaiming;

"To the groom!" His voice cracked and the tears poured, yet he forced his smile on his face as he was happy. He had to be. His _best friend_ was getting married. He had to smile and congratulate him, even though sadness and hatred bubbled in his chest. He pushed it down. 

Alexander didn't love him, and John resented him for it. How dare he get married? How dare he cheat on John with Eliza? He knew they couldn't ever be together, it was sinful and unnatural, but... A guy could hope, couldn't he? Besides, John saved every letter Alexander wrote him and would spend the rest of his days rereading each word over and over, pretending like they were together and in love. 

John embraced Alexander, pushing back the urge to kiss him as he clung to him, playing off that he was drunk and in need of a support to keep himself from falling over. Everyone laughed at his antics, unaware of the voice murmuring in the back of his head that everyone knew he was a sinner and in love with the groom. He pushed it down and raised his glass, managing to splatter everyone close to him in the champagne. 

Alexander threw his head back in laughter, his hair now damp with the drink. John wanted to run his hands through his hair one time, he wanted to pull and yank on it, to kiss him and run away with him...

Yet, John pushed it down.

John was happy.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Innocence. It was something that glittered in Philip’s eyes like stars, something that showed through his brash mannerisms and how the plucky pre-teen would recklessly throw himself into various possibly dangerous situations. John was like him long ago, part of a group of lighthearted, devil-may-care soldiers fighting for freedom and independence. When John watched and tried to convince Philip out of doing something foolish, he couldn’t help but remember his own misadventures, like when they would sneak out of camp late at night with a cheap bottle of ale and run around in the forest like they were children once more. He remembered grabbing Alexander’s hand and kissing hi-

John snapped out of his daydreams, a faint blush burning his freckled cheeks. He figured he’d best not dwell on the past and focus on the present. He sighed and searched around for Philip, to see the curly-haired boy was sprinting towards a group of upperclassmen picking on someone. John quickly followed him, knowing that if Philip tried to jump in it would only end with a brutal beating.

“Philip! What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” John called, hoping to deter the determined young boy, “There’s FOUR of them! You can’t beat them!” Philip only ignored John, who groaned in frustration as Philip punched one of them in the gut. The girl they were picking on looked up at Philip with tears in her eyes.

“Run!” He said to her. The girl nodded and scampered off, lifting her skirt to not trip on it. The boys turned to see the young Philip and sneered. John knew he couldn’t stop this impending beat-down, so he yelled for Philip to run. “Hamiltons never run!” Was Philip’s response. John rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Philip ended up with a bloody nose and a black eye. After crying for twenty minutes, Philip smiled at John and said.

“At least I saved Theodosia!” 

John flinched, “Theodosia… Junior?”

“Yep!”

John let out a shrill peal of laughter at that. “I woulda thought you’d have some type a’ rivalry with Theodosia Burr! Like father, like son!” He chuckled. Philip looked confused, so John sat down on the curb next to the boy. “Have I ever told you ‘bout Alexander and Burr?” 

“A lil’ bit.” Philip sniffled loudly and John winced.

“Gross. Wipe the blood off your face and I’ll tell you.” Philip wiped his face with a handkerchief. John began his tale, “Aaron Burr and your father have always had this… Interesting rivalry. They were friends, sure, but they’re very different. Burr is quiet, soft-spoken while your father is… Not.” John smiled wistfully, “they’re both good men but they differ in views and it frustrates them. I love your fathe- How your father stands up for what he believes in, but he can be… Brash at times.” Philip’s eyes were dim with thought as he stood, dusting himself off.

“We’d best get home ‘fore ma has a fit.” 

“Eliza’ll have a fit when you show up all black ‘n blue, Philip!” 

John hadn’t expected Philip - after his mom stopped scolding from for getting into a fight - to waltz into his father’s office and exclaim, “tell me ‘bout John Laurens!” John simply stood in the doorway with his heart in his throat as Alexander stared at his son, perplexed and wondering where on Earth his son heard his name.

“John Laurens was…” John’s vision was blurred with tears, “He was my closest friend, Philip, one of the only people I could trust.” Alexander wore an easy smile, but his eyes were dark with remembrance. John stepped forward just as heavy tears began to fall down his cheeks and reached out for Alexander, pleading for him to just see him for once. Alexander continued talking, pretending as if they were merely best friends, but John knew different. 

Philip suddenly turned and left, leaving John to watch Alexander lean back in his chair and blink back tears. John leaned forward and pecked Alexander on the lips. 

“I’m sorry.” John whispered before he disappeared, not wanting to deal with everything right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my garbage!


End file.
